


The pain of running relieves the pain of living

by Wisteria_Leigh



Series: Prompted Works [10]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: College Student Adam Parrish, Concussions, Fluff, M/M, Minor Injuries, i have no idea how to tag this, it's just an absurd thing, living my best italicized life over here, overused italics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 15:15:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17388761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wisteria_Leigh/pseuds/Wisteria_Leigh
Summary: Adam Parrish is a survivor.And Adam Parrish,theAdam Parrish, is not going to be felled by a concussion. A concussion caused by, of all things, running into a goddamnlamppost.





	The pain of running relieves the pain of living

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by an anon on Tumblr from [ this list ](http://purrincesscatitude.tumblr.com/post/181823833695/prompt-list)18: “Why didn’t you tell me that you got hurt?”

Here’s the thing about Adam Parrish.

Adam Parrish was planted in infertile soil, and still he took root. He was starved and spat and stomped on, and still he sprouted. He was humiliated by declined debit cards, by secondhand uniforms and rented textbooks, and still he grew. He was sacrificed, bound, nearly killed, and possessed, and still he blossomed.  

Nothing stopped Adam Parrish. Neither his father, nor the rich snobs of Aglionby, nor poverty, nor the Demon, nor grief. The world in all its unfairness and cruelty had knocked him down and he’d gotten back up, time and time again, on shaking legs but with stronger and stronger resolve.

Adam Parrish was a _survivor._

Adam Parrish _is still_ a survivor. 

And Adam Parrish, _the_ Adam Parrish, is _not_ going to be felled by a concussion. A concussion caused by, of all things, running into a goddamn _lamppost_.  
  
“Wait wait wait. Adam did what?” Blue snaps on the other end of the line.  
  
“Please don’t tell her,” Adam groans from the bed in the ER.  
  
Gansey sighs. “He ran into a lamppost.”  
  
“In his car,” Blue clarifies.  
  
“No, Jane--”  
  
“On his bike?”  
  
“No. He was running and he just...ran into it.”  
  
Silence.

“He’s okay, Jane, just--”

Blue starts to laugh. Full-body, stomach cramping, hysterical laughter.  
  
Gansey sighs again.  
  
“She’s laughing, isn’t she?” Adam says.  
  
Gansey turns the phone on speaker. Her cackling makes Adam wince. “Blue, shut up,” he demands with a groan.  
  
“Oh, Adam. Hi,” she says, breathless and not at all apologetic. “Heard you had a little run-in with a lamppost.”  
  
Blue is already snickering. Adam doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a reply.

“Why were you running? What were you running from?” Blue asks once she’s composed herself.

Adam scoffs. “I wasn’t running from anything. I was just running.”

“Since when do you _run_?”

“Since my therapist said physical activity would help relieve stress.”

“So would you say you’ve been... _run-down_ recently?”

Gansey pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You know, my therapist also said I should cut unsupportive people out of my life,” Adam hisses. “And I’m feeling the need for some self-improvement right now--”

“That’s enough,” Gansey says over Blue’s expletive-laden reply. “Jane, please, he’s _injured_.”

“God, Gans, don’t talk about me like I’m an invalid, when I’m right here.”

Corinne, who’s Adam’s friend from his library desk job, is sitting beside the ER bed. Just like Adam, she's still in her running clothes, sweat dried by the strong AC of the ER. She twists the end of her ponytail around a finger, a nervous twitch. “He doesn’t look _that_ bad,” she says, but Adam can tell she’s just trying to be nice, mostly because she feels guilty for taking him out running in the first place.

“See?” Blue says. “He just needs to take the stick out of his a--”

“Jane."

“Sorry. I’m done.”

Gansey hums with approval. “They’re going to discharge him soon, we think. I’ll text you once we get him home.” Gansey continues. 

“Already?” Blue says.  
  
“We’ve been here for a few hours now. Adam was...insistent on screening who I called.”

"Which means Ronan doesn’t know yet.”

Gansey glances at Adam. “No, Ronan does not know yet.”

Adam grabs Gansey’s arm, yanks the phone closer. “Do not tell him, Blue.”

“Not my circus, not my monkeys,” Blue replies.

A satisfactory answer. Adam lets go of Gansey’s arm.

Gansey worries his bottom lip. “He’ll want to know.”

“I’ll tell him myself. Later.”

Gansey peers over his glasses. Corinne raises a brow. Even the static of the speakerphone sound skeptical.

“Eventually. Probably.”

Gansey sighs. “Adam, please, these are the sorts of things you tell others.”

“No. He’s going to be annoying. It’s not that bad.”

“You’re concussed! You have a black eye!”

“From _running into a lamppost._ ”

“Concussion?! You didn’t tell me that!” Blue shouts.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Adam,” Gansey says. “These things happen.”

Adam levels Gansey a look. “Do they? Do they _really_? When was the last time _you_ ran into a lamppost?”

“Last week.” And it’s so sincere and absurd that Adam is certain he isn’t lying for his sake.

“I, for one, have never run into a lamppost,” Blue says. Corinne chooses to abstain from this poll.

“Shut _up,_ Blue,” Adam snaps.

Gansey takes the phone off speaker. “I’ll text you,” he says.

“Might want to get Parrish some more pain meds so he stops being a dick,” Blue huffs.

“Your concern is duly noted. Might I also suggest you reflect upon how you provoked him?”

“You can. Doesn’t mean I’ll listen.”

“Fair enough.”

Adam is, in fact, discharged within the next twenty minutes, with a prescription for some strong pain meds and strict orders to ice his face and rest for the next week.

It’s summer, so thankfully Adam doesn’t have classes, and Gansey takes care of calling his summer research advisor to explain the “incident” and how “terribly sorry” Adam is that he can’t come in this week. “She was delightful,” Gansey says once he gets off the phone, politician’s smile still glimmering in the dimmed lights of Adam’s room. “Had only glowing praise for you and your work.”

“Yeah, tell that to the annotations she left on my last draft,” Adam mutters.

Corinne offered to cover Adam’s shifts at the library, “since I feel kinda responsible for this,” and their supervisor approves it, so Adam has literally nothing to do for a week, which is both a great thing-- because he’s nauseated just at the thought of having to do anything and his head is throbbing in an erratic rhythm that makes even basic function increasingly difficult--and a terrible thing--because it’s Adam Parrish.

Gansey stays with him for the 24-hour observation period. It’s not as terrible as Adam thought, although maybe that’s just the pain meds.

Gansey tries to get Adam to call Ronan at least once every 2 hours. Adam says he’ll “get to it once my head isn’t exploding,” to which Gansey suggest he call him instead and deliver the news, “since you can’t look at the phone, anyway.”

Adam still says no. “He’ll freak out. He’ll want to talk to me. Really, everything is fine, it was a stupid fucking accident and I’d rather not relive it again right now.”

But Gansey’s never been good at keeping secrets, or keeping his nose out of other people’s business when he thinks charity might be required.

Which is why Adam is not the least bit surprised when he opens the door the next day and Ronan is standing there.

Ronan drops his overnight bag at the sight of Adam’s face. Corinne was _definitely_ lying, then.

“What. The _fuck,_ ” Ronan growls. “What the fucking fuck _happened_?”

“You should see the other guy,” Adam grumbles because it’s the only thing he can think of that doesn’t sound hideously lame. His head is absolutely throbbing.

“Who the _fuck_ is the other guy?!”

Adam looks at the floor. Maybe the lamppost has a dent in it from his forehead; he’s been told enough times he’s hard-headed, after all. Then at least he wouldn’t be lying, per say.

He mumbles the answer at his bare feet.

“Huh?” Half of Ronan's upper lip curls up, almost comically.

Adam says it again, to one corner of one tile on the floor.

“What the fuck are you saying, Parrish?”

Adam doesn’t care that it’s going to make his head pulse in protest, he’s embarrassed and pissed at Gansey and himself and that stupid fucking lamppost on Whitney Ave so he shouts, “A LAMPPOST.”

Ronan doesn’t say anything for a moment. His brow knits together, and he whispers,“what?”

“I went for a run, and I ran into a lamppost,” Adam spits through gritted teeth. The catharsis wasn't worth it. Now his head is spinning. Stupid deaf ear already throws his balance off enough, and this whole head-injury shit isn’t helping.

Ronan coughs. Well, it sounds like a cough, but then his brow is relaxing and the corners of his mouth are twitching.  

“Do not laugh at me,” Adam growls.

Ronan’s shoulders start shaking.

“Don’t do it, Ronan, I swear.”

He bites at his bottom lip, tucks his head down.

Adam smiles, against his better judgement. “Please don’t--”

Ronan’s laugh is full and deep and rich and echoes around them like a symphony. It’s easy to ignore how much the loud sound hurts when it’s so beautiful.

“Are you fucking with me?” Ronan manages between breaths.

Adam’s face is bright red, and he’s holding his face in his hands, but he’s laughing, too. “No, no, I was running with Corinne and I turned to tell her something and I just…”

Ronan claps his hands together with a loud _smack_. Adam nods.

“You clumsy, stupid fucker,” Ronan says, wiping tears from his eyes with the heel of his hand. He finally steps into the apartment.

“Yeah, something like that.” His head still fucking hurts, but at least the dizziness has passed.

Ronan takes closer stock of the angry cut spread across Adam’s forehead, sharp blue eyes following the galactic bruise down his nose and around his eye. He drags his thumb feather-light along the edge of it just above his cheek, wincing with a sympathetic hiss. “That’s one hell of a shiner, huh?”

Adam nods. “Hurts like hells,” he admits.

Ronan brings his hands to Adam’s jaw, holding his head as carefully as he can. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that you got hurt?” he says softly, and now that he’s gotten the laughter out of his system, there’s real worry in his furrowed brow and gentle touch.

“Because it was stupid,” Adam sighs. “And it wasn’t...it’s not _that_ bad--”

“Diagnosed with a Grade Two Concussion, Parrish,” Gansey calls from the living room at the end of the hall. “Let’s not forget that small detail.”

Ronan gives him A Look.

“It was humiliating,” Adam grumbles. Which doesn't justify it, but Ronan makes a sound like he understands.

Ronan kisses the unbruised part of his forehead.

“Dick said you’re on bedrest.”

“No screens. No books,” Adam confirms. “No studying, either.” And he sounds so _distraught_ about it that Ronan absolutely has to gag in reply. Adam wacks his hand against his chest.  

“I’m not even allowed to _think_ too hard. Not gonna be very fun for you,” Adam says as they head for his room.

“Good thing I hate thinking.”

Adam snorts. “Don’t I know it.”

Ronan flicks his arm. Adam smiles.

Ronan leans in closer to Adam’s hearing ear. “What’s the rules about...uh… _relaxing_ you--”

“‘No strenuous physical activity,’” Gansey twitters loudly from the couch. “So keep it PG in there.”

“Stop eavesdropping, Dick,” Ronan hollers back, ears red with embarrassment, only to whisper an apology when he notices Adam grimacing at the noise.

Gansey leaves not long after, with a promise to bring food back when he checks in again later.

Adam spends the afternoon icing his face. Ronan texts Adam’s friends for him whenever they check in, and sends Blue and Henry Snapchats of his “gnarly fucking shiner” in the meantime.

Ronan also offers to go “beat the shit out of that lamppost for fucking up your beautiful face.”

It’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever offered to do for him. Well, the 2nd nicest.

“What’s with you beating the shit out of things that give me black eyes?” he says, tired and hurting and too out of it from the meds and the whole rattled-brain thing to really weigh and measure his statements like he usually does.

Ronan shrugs. He’s fiddling with a Rubix Cube Adam got during Secret Santa last year, biting his lower lip with his brow knit in determined concentration. “I don’t like people who fuck with your face.”

”Just people?”

”Or lampposts. I’m not picky.”

Adam smiles into his pillow. “Well thanks, I guess.”

“Thank your pretty face.”

“That feels redundant.”

“Big words aren’t allowed. Doctor’s orders.”

Adam rolls his eyes. He grabs Ronan’s wrist, who pauses his solving to look at him, gaze soft and curious.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Adam says softly. He’s looking at his fingers around Ronan’s wrist, because it’s easier for him to admit that he was wrong that way.

Ronan brings his wrist--and therefore Adam’s hand--to his lips.

“Call next time, okay?” Ronan says. “That’s all I ask.”

“I’m hoping there is no next time.”

“Yeah, you run into a fucking lamppost again and I will use it to blackmail you. I mean, you’ll fucking deserve it, then.”

Adam sighs, but even he can admit that's a fair punishment. 

They find the lamppost a few days later, when Adam can stand the sunlight for more than five minutes, and isn’t so dizzy that he gets carsick.

There is, in fact, a spot just about at forehead level with some paint missing and some dark stains that might be blood. Not quite a dent, but enough that Adam feels a little less embarrassed by it.

Ronan kicks the base. Kicks it again. Once more, for good measure.

“Feel better?” Adam says dryly.

“Yeah,” Ronan says. He loops his arm around Adam’s shoulder and gently kisses his temple. “Your honor has been restored.”

“My hero,” Adam mocks. “Now let’s move your car before you get towed.”

“Worth it to teach that asshole a lesson.”

“You’re taking it way farther than it needs to go.”

“Agree to disagree.”

The next day, Ronan has dreamed Adam a gift: a white warning sign, with the silhouette of the lamppost behind a big red circle and slash, that reads “Warning: No Lampposts Allowed.”

“ _Now_ I’ve taken it as far as it needs to go,” Ronan explains with a wicked grin once he can move again.

Adam hangs it on the back of his bedroom door. It’s the least he can do.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by someone I knew in high school who was running and ran face-first into a parking meter and knocked out her front teeth. There were teeth marks in the meter.


End file.
